


roads go ever on

by SpicyReyes



Series: the road goes ever on [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: #LetGaiusRest2k18, BAMF Merlin, F/F, F/M, Female Merlin, Gen, Gender Issues, Gender or Sex Swap, Immortal Merlin, M/M, Multi, Period-Typical Sexism, Time Travel Fix-It, but also Male Merlin, period-typical shitty attitudes, two merlins at once hoo boy, two! merlins!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-22 02:54:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14299206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyReyes/pseuds/SpicyReyes
Summary: Merlin had no patience left to wait out his life by the shores, waiting for Arthur to rise from the depths again.He supposed the only way to be by his friend's side again was to ensure he never died in the first place.Not really sure how he ended up guiding his younger self likethis,though.





	roads go ever on

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is a clusterfuck of ideas just shoved together for the fun of it lmao enjoy

When someone asked Merlin in the year 540 how long it had been since Arthur died, he’d been able to answer down to the day. He felt each second pass with infuriating clarity, and had been unable to forget his vigil for even a moment. 

If someone had asked Merlin in the year 600 how long he’d been waiting for Arthur, he’d have thought on it long and hard and eventually answered “about sixty years.” He still felt the time passing, driving him ever so close to madness, only to snatch him back in hope. He did not count the days, the months, the years - when Arthur returned, he would not care about the numbers. He would wait a million hours and more to meet his friend again. 

If someone asked Merlin at the turn of the millennium how long he’d been waiting on Arthur...they likely would not have received a coherent answer. The early years of England were hard on him. 

Needless to say, when Merlin looked up and it was into the two thousandth year of the Christian calendar, he couldn’t help but feel he’d been given a fool’s errand. 

People in the newest century - the twenty-first, given the peculiar naming they did to include the first ninety-nine years of their timekeeping - panicked easily. Technology had advanced far beyond the reach of even the wildest dreams of those in Merlin’s time, and yet people seemed torn. Some fought valiantly for further advancement, for more capabilities and more accessibility, while others seemed disgusted by the amount of daily tasks could be done without much effort from them at all. 

Merlin, who still used magic to complete chores despite being nearly 1500 years old, was firmly in the former category. Which was funny, to him, because he still wore the guise of an old man (though it felt far more fitting now) and was often written off as a crotchety old timer who wouldn’t understand technology no matter what was done to simplify it. 

In between debates on how technology should develop there were debates on every possible thing: Merlin had seen a lot of groups treated unfairly in his lifetime, and watched with pleasure as many claimed their rights over time, but he never enjoyed watching the struggle it took. People argued constantly about who was right or wrong or allowed the right to their own lives and choices, citing religion or science or whatever twisted words and poor interpretations they needed to give their point of view a leg to stand on. 

Merlin was 1500 years old, and he had 1500 years of political knowledge under his belt, and he could still say with absolute certainty that political posturing was a plague on society - truly good people did not hold themselves higher for their good ways, and hearing groups argue about who is right and wrong always wore him out. 

In a way, the more advanced Albion - now England, of the United Kingdom, which confused him still - became, the more it cracked under its own weight. 

Merlin had been alive in a time when the blood in your veins was everything. Now it was the blood in your veins and the color of your skin and the make of your body and your chosen life path and a thousand other things he couldn't be bothered to remember. 

As the world fractured, dark things rose from the torn seams, rising to ride the tides of malice and hate in people's hearts. People called for war without a thought to casualties, people called for exiles and executions, people sneered down their noses at anyone they deemed lesser by some arbitrary scale. 

Each time Merlin heard of some new conflict, he looked out into the depths of the lake of Avalon, looking for any sign his vigil would pay off. 

He got none. Wherever Arthur was waiting, Merlin had no way of reaching him. 

The last time he'd seen his friend was perhaps truly the last time he would. 

  
  
  


Merlin would not accept that. If he had to break the fabric molding the world he would - he was the only sorcerer remaining, tied to the heart of the very earth and stronger than the north wind. No force of nature could match him. 

Not even the untamable beast that was time. 

  
  
  


Merlin had a millennium and a half of practice with his magic to his name, and though time was an element he’d never played much with, it did not take him long to work out how. He practiced with small things - reversing an object’s timeline, rather than simply repairing it or moving it back where it was. He grew plants and shrunk them back to seeds, he watched apples rot and then turn ripe again...all small feats that would have seemed impossible to him, once, but now came easy as breathing. 

Then came the true test: could he control the same element on a larger scale. A puddle was not an ocean, he knew that well, and so he needed to test himself.

It took effort and practice, but one day he found himself standing in the heart of London, looking around as every person, vehicle, animal, or light was frozen perfectly in a single second of time. 

If he could freeze the hands of Big Ben in their spin and keep a thousand busy cityfolk from progressing in their days, he had no doubt the next step was possible. 

He looked to the lake of Avalon, and thought,  _ I’m coming home.  _

  
  
  


Merlin cast his spell upon the waters of the lake of Avalon under the light of a bright full moon, and waded into the depths until they swallowed him whole, feeling the magic soak into his skin as it dragged him backward, into a time apart. Around him, the water cooled and heated and cooled again, the temperatures changing back and forth within fractions of seconds. Under his feet, the sands receded, returning to the stone they’d eroded from. 

A tide suddenly swept beneath him, shoving him forward, and he stumbled right back to the shoreline of the lake. He crawled out of the waters, gasping and shaking, and when he opened his eyes he found himself not on the beaches of an urban lakeside villa but in the deep woods of centuries past.

_ I made it,  _ he thought, almost desperate with joy at the realization.  _ I’m home. I’m… _

How far back? How long ago had he made it? Where was his younger self, at the moment, while he sat dripping on a shoreline?

He had only one way to know.

He pulled himself up to his feet, and started on the long trek to Camelot. 

To  _ home.  _

  
  
  
  


Merlin was exhausted, after the strain of such an immense spell, and thus had very little energy to make the trek to the center of the kingdom - if he had even made it to the days of the kingdom’s existence, as he couldn’t yet tell - and so he didn’t get far before he realized he couldn’t just walk into the city. 

He was still in his heavy navy trenchcoat, which was damp from the water he hadn’t managed to dispel in the process of rounding off his spell. However far back he’d made it in time, it was definitely before the industrial revolution, and a gabardine coat would look more than a little odd in a city full of traditional dress. 

If he  _ was  _ far enough back, then he could find that hut he’d used as the house of the ‘Dragoon’ disguise he’d used once upon a time, and rest there until he was recovered enough to use magic again and make himself some more passable clothes. He would also need to eat something, and he was desperate for sleep. 

A new plan in mind, he started toward the Eglieest Forest in search of his refuge. 

  
  
  
  


The hut  _ was  _ there, and looked rather similar to the ( _ very _ ) foggy memory he had of it. He used the very last of his energy to set a simple protective spell around the place, and curled up on the tiny mat of hay and cloth that served as its only ‘bed.’ 

He had no way of knowing how long he slept, but when he woke it was bright and the sun was high, marking it midday. He was still drained, but he imagined that was going to be a problem too deep for one rest to fix. 

He dug through the crumbling hut in search of something edible that he could easily prepare, and lucked upon stale grain that was simple enough to spell into bread. 

He devoured it, suddenly starving, and then used the bit of energy it provided to shift the fabric of his clothes into a cloak similar to that he’d given the disguise the first time he made it. He didn’t alter the fabrics, deciding that no one would get close enough to it to notice it was strange and changing it would take more than he had in him at the time. 

With the most pressing issues taken care of, he started off again, this time with the determination to make it all the way to the walls of the city. It was perhaps a half day’s journey, making it the rest of the way, but that was riding a horse with the speed of the purebred stallions the royal family kept. The trip would be longer on foot, and Merlin resigned himself to being tired again when he arrived. 

It didn’t matter. If he died three steps into Camelot’s gates, it would have been worth the journey. After fifteen hundred years, he wasn’t willing to wait a single extra day.

He needed to see Arthur. In whatever way he managed to stay in the city, whatever he ended up telling his younger self, looking at a healthy, happy,  _ alive  _ Arthur Pendragon was his first priority. 

He prayed he’d made it to the right time. Depending on how far he was, he’d get a different version of Arthur, and he couldn’t tell which version he would prefer to see. A child Arthur, yet unburdened by the world? A king, growing weary with his duties? A prince, bratty and rotten to the core? 

Honestly, any sight other than that of a broken, bleeding Arthur awaiting his own death would be a balm on his hurt soul. His hurt had been 1500 years in the making - even a shallow comfort was long overdue. 

  
  
  
  


Merlin exited the forest just as the day was ending, and was greeted with the sight of the sun setting over Camelot, standing proudly once again. 

Determined as he was to reach Arthur, he wasn’t about to try and navigate Camelot after the curfews were enforced and the guards changed shifts. Instead, he made a camp at the edge of the forest, and set out at first light the next morning. 

He was through the gates just as the sun was spilling over the high walls, and the warmth of it on his face soothed his body the same way the sight of the palace soothed his soul.

Pendragon banners still hung proudly, in the rich reds and golds that Uther had preferred, which meant Arthur was not king yet. Beyond that, he had no way of judging the year, and so he pressed on, heading for the one place he could seek his answers.

The quarters of the Royal Physician were not technically open to all. Those who needed his aid could send messengers to call on Gaius and bring him where he was requested. Still, anyone the man summoned as a patient could walk openly into the tower, and the guards in Merlin’s time had never once bothered to learn who was or was not an approved patient without Gaius explicitly telling them not to let a person in. 

Gaius’ door was open when he arrived, which had Merlin hesitating. Gaius had kept his door firmly shut most of the time when Merlin lived there, to prevent someone stumbling in on an incriminating scene. If the doors were unbarred...

Merlin pushed it open. 

“Hello?” Gaius’ voice called out, like a knife to the gut for Merlin. “If you are not in a dire situation, please come back later. I’m trying to prepare for my-...” 

“Gaius,” Merlin breathed, as he finally laid eyes on the man. 

Gaius looked up from the papers in front of him, meeting Merlin’s eyes with visible confusion. “...For my nephew’s arrival,” the man finished, after a moment’s hesitation. “Do I know you?”

“Not me, no,” Merlin said. “At least, I don’t think so. I most certainly did not know you, even if I do now.”

Gaius looked heavily concerned, and Merlin realized he probably wasn’t making any sense. 

“Your nephew,” Merlin realized, suddenly. “Your  _ nephew  _ is coming. Hunith’s son Merlin, yes? He’s set to arrive when?”

Gaius’ gaze turned sharp and suspicious. “How do you know of him? Who are you?” 

Merlin couldn’t believe his luck. “Oh, I didn’t think I made it,” he practically wept with relief. “I thought I might have come back too far, or not far enough.”

“Speak sense!” Gaius snapped at him. “Before I call the guards!”

“Merlin!” Merlin yelled out, stepping forward, not even paying any mind to Gaius’ instinctive responding step back. “Merlin is coming to you because his mother doesn’t know how to hide his magic any longer.”

Gaius’ face went sheet white. “What are you talking about?” he demanded. “Explain to me who you are, this instant.”

Merlin reached out, dropping his hands on Gaius’ shoulders, making the man recoil slightly. “Gaius,” he said. “My name-...My name is  _ Emrys.  _ I’ve come to save your nephew, if I can.” 

“Emrys,” Gaius echoed. “That name...you’re a Druid?” 

“No,” Merlin said. “But also, yes. I’m many things, but none at all.” 

“You’re mad.”

Merlin shook his head. “No, no! I’m not doing this right. I..” He took a deep breath, calmed himself, and committed then and there to any efforts he needed to go through to save his younger self the pain his life had brought. Merlin, here and now, had to give way to Emrys - it would not do to have two of the same man wandering around Camelot at once, after all. “Merlin is the son of a Dragonlord,” now-and-forever  _ Emrys _ told his old mentor.  “His father is Balinor - the one you yourself once helped escape the city. He made it to Ealdor by your instruction and fell in love with your sister while under her care, and together they had a son, and that son is Merlin.”

“He is a child of magic?” Gaius breathed, sounding stunned. “Truly?”

“No,” Emrys said. “He  _ is  _ magic. Magic exists deep within his core in a way no sorcerer or even magic beast could ever match. His destiny is to be fulfilled here, in Camelot, when he brings about the peaceful return of magic.”

“That’s impossible,” Gaius said. “King Uther would never permit-...”

“King  _ Uther _ will not,” Emrys said. “But King  _ Arthur?” _

Gaius stared. “You intend to kill the king?” he asked in a harsh whisper. “You truly are mad!” 

“No, I will not harm him,” Emrys promised. “His death will come in its time, as all things do. But when Arthur takes the throne, Merlin will be beside him, and they will create together something better than either could even imagine alone.”

Gaius watched Emrys with a grim look. “What are you proposing, bringing this to me?”

“I can guide him,” Emrys said. “I’ve seen every step in the journey he is about to make, I need only find a way to help him seek a better path.” He took another deep breath, and revealed the truth: “I am nearly fifteen hundred years old,” he said, and let his form start shifting, winding away the look of his years until he stood in a body identical to his younger one. “But once, years ago and also just today, I looked like this. I called you uncle, and I was called  _ Merlin _ .” 

“Hello?” 

Emrys straightened as his own voice echoed through the room.

Gaius looked between the newest arrival, the past version of Merlin, and the orignal visitor,  _ Emrys- _ Merlin _.  _

In the doorway, younger-Merlin blinked at his doppleganger, stunned.

Emrys-Merlin broke out in a bright, happy grin. “Hello, Merlin,” he greeted. “I suppose I ought to start at the beginning.”

  
  
  
  


Emrys - because he couldn’t keep using ‘Merlin’ if there was to be any proper understanding at all - told his younger self and his uncle nothing of importance, or anything specific, instead stressing the general overarching truth: he had lived his life once, far beyond the length he should have, and learned much along the way. He had, however, failed at achieving his destiny - the details of which he would not reveal, no matter how hard he was pressed - and had mastered the element of time for the sake of being able to return to the past and try again.

“I wish only to guide you,” Emrys told Merlin. “As there was no one to guide me. In the times I’ve lived, this sort of thing was considered a ‘paradox’ - if I had myself to guide me, I would not have reached the point I am in order to come back. This conversation should not be possible, and yet it is.” 

“You speak nonsense,” Gaius insisted. “No man can bend time. It is a force beyond magic’s reach.”

Emrys checked over his shoulder that they’d firmly shut and barred the door, and then held his hand out, letting his eyes bleed gold as his fingers passed through the air just above an apple.

Before their eyes, the fruit rotted, maggots turning to flies in split seconds, only to reverse, going all the way past the state it had been originally until it was sitting at perfect ripeness.

To illustrate his point, he picked it up and took a hearty bite out of it, savoring the disgusted look on his younger self’s face. 

“My task to you,” Emrys told Gaius, deciding it was best to get on with making his point, “is to find me a way to stay at the side of my younger self - if you’ll have me, of course, Merlin, though we are rather stubborn - without drawing any suspicion. Merlin being sent to you to study as an apprentice is not unusual, but you taking a partner on the same day would be. So would Merlin sneaking out to meet a strange old man regularly, or having an eerily identical twin brother.” 

Gaius blinked, slowly, and then looked thoughtful. “A brother would be the most sensible thing. Siblings being sent to the city together is a believable background. You two looking identical, though, could raise questions. The best thing would be to make you seem fundamentally different in some way. If you could look a bit different, older or younger to a degree that altered your appearance. That, or posed as a sister.”

Emrys grinned, smacking his hands down on the table with joy. “Excellent idea, Gaius!”

Gaius gaped at him. “You can’t be serious.”

Emrys did not listen, simply hopped up and headed to rifle through Gaius’ cabinet, finding a simple black leather strap, and a smooth stone, using magic to combine them into an amulet in the shape of a small pearl-white dragon - Aithusa’s image, for him to carry as a momento. He closed his eyes and clutched the amulet, casting a strong charm upon it, before taking it and sliding the cord around his own neck.

A moment later, the stone dropped down to rest against a young woman’s chest, as she looked up with electric blue eyes and a familiar smile. 

“There we go,” she said. “Merlin, starting today, you are seeking an apprenticeship and a new life with your twin sister, Emrys.” She gave a curtsey, lifting her robe by the skirt as though it were a gown. “I hope to be of assistance.”

**Author's Note:**

> female merlin!!! 


End file.
